


distractions

by towokuwusatsuwu



Category: HiGH&LOW: the Story of S.W.O.R.D. (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, First Kiss, Friendship, Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 22:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15649860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towokuwusatsuwu/pseuds/towokuwusatsuwu
Summary: masaki only comes here when he needs to stop thinking quite so much. he doesn't expect to see a familiar face.





	distractions

The interior of this particular bar is not a strange place to Amamiya Masaki.

If anything, the location feels more like a home away from home, an easy place to escape to when he needs time to himself and alcohol to blur his thoughts before they can run away from him. The peace in the S.W.O.R.D. region should bring him some measure of personal peace as well; the storm has passed, the fighting has lulled into quiet, and they might finally be safe. No snipers have come after him or Hiroto, and Hiroto… Has been happier, lately. He’s still recovering from the initial shock of almost losing Smokey, of nearly losing the small and precious happiness they built with each other over something as stupid as fighting back to back.

Masaki should be happier, he thinks. He should be able to share in the same joy as the others, revel in the peace and quiet and carve himself a niche of his own to enjoy. Instead, he finds himself coming here to drink until his mind is fuzzy enough that he no longer needs to think about anything at all. He knows Kohaku is worried about him; more than once he woke up on Kohaku’s couch, scolded for drinking until he managed to black out.

Happiness of any kind has eluded him for so long. With the quiet, all he does is think about Takeru. He and Hiroto have lost so much in their lives but losing Takeru for real never felt like a possibility no many how many times Masaki turned the thought around in his head late at night, always when Hiroto was asleep. Having his brother die in front of him has left scars he might not be able to heal, at least not for a long time, and now he can properly think about it. He knows how destructive this is, how likely he is to fall apart the longer he lingers over Takeru, but he doesn’t have anyone or anything to distract himself from the pain.

Except for alcohol. Masaki has money, and booze here isn’t expensive, and there are plenty of liquors able to soften the edges of his brain until he doesn’t even know Takeru’s name anymore. That the place is quiet and out of the way, and only Kohaku knows he comes here. Swearing him to secrecy had been of the utmost importance; the last thing Masaki wants to deal with is Hiroto worrying about him drinking himself to death over something as stupid as being lonely.

Hiroto deserves to keep the one brother he still has, after all. He deserves less of a fuck-up, sure, but Masaki can at least pass himself off as acceptable as long as Hiroto never catches on.

The bartender brings him what he wants and Masaki turns off his cell phone after firing off a quick text to Hiroto that he’s going to be taking a nap and doesn’t want to be disturbed. He has to say something to keep him from being worried; Hiroto is spending the day and, if Masaki remembers correctly, the night on the Nameless Street, helping the Rudeboys rebuild and spending the night with Smokey.

No one in the bar looks twice at him which he prefers; maybe the legend of the Amamiya Brothers doesn’t extend this far, or maybe they know who he is and know to give him a wide berth. To Masaki, neither reason really matters as long as he gets some measure of privacy here, at least enough to drink until he’s ready to go home.

His tendency to ignore everyone else in favor of his drink of choice— this time whiskey, the deep amber liquid promising him a less painful night— is what makes him drop his guard. He doesn’t even notice anyone has sat down on the stool next to him until the person clears their throat, startling him out of his reverie. Realizing who the person is doesn’t make it easier.

“What are you doing here?” The question comes out like a rapid accusation instead of a normal question, but sue him, he’s been having a notoriously bad few weeks.

“It’s a bar, Amamiya. Why do people usually come here?” The question has him narrowing his eyes, heaving a sigh. “How’s your brother doing?”

The question makes Masaki relax a little and he rubs a hand over his face.  _ Relax. He’s not the enemy. _ “Hiroto’s okay. Thank you, by the way. For everything you did for us. For saving him.”

If Masaki could pinpoint the moment this entire ruse stopped making sense to him, it was the moment he found out that Kuryu’s pet corrupt detective was a spy from the inside. He still has nightmares that the man never came, that Hiroto took the sniper’s bullet and died in front of him just like Takeru did. It takes a good few minutes after waking to remember Saigo pinning his brother down, the blood splashed across the back of his jacket.

“Not a problem.” Saiga favors him with a small smile. “And you? How are you doing?”

“Same old, same old.” It’s not true but it’s easy and Masaki even manages a proper smile around the words because it’s easy. It’s always been easy. “Catching up on sleep. You have any idea how much shut-eye a guy loses dodging the yakuza and the cops? It’s rough.”

Saiga chuckles. “I can’t imagine. Everything else going fine in your part of the world?”

“Ah, well. I think so? S.W.O.R.D. isn’t like, my part of the world.” Masaki tips his head back, thinking carefully over what the gangs have been doing to pick up the pieces left shattered by Kuryu’s oppressive grip on them. “Everyone’s fine, I think? Rascals have a new club, Rudeboys are good, can’t think of anyone who’s not. Kohaku is back with his kids now, I think.”

“His kids,” Saigo muses, shaking his head. “He’s both the first and last guy I’d imagine being around kids even though I know you’re talking about grown adults.”

Masaki snorts. “I mean, he’s not… He’s not so… Okay he can be pretty bad but he’s usually not. It’s kind of nice to see him back to a normal version of himself again.”

“You two have a history, right? Rivals, or something like it. I’ve heard things.” Saigo’s enigmatic smile suggests those things are not kind and Masaki chokes, the back of his neck burning. “I mean, no judgment. Kohaku isn’t an unattractive man underneath the hair—”

“It’s not like that! I mean. Okay, maybe once it could have been like that.” He’d never live the shame down if Hiroto ever found out, the clash between him and Kohaku that extended well past the battle with Mugen. Truth be told, they do always seem to find their way back to each other and maybe Masaki has extended him one too many chances, but… It’s worth it, right? To see him back with his Sannoh kids. “But like, not seriously. It was just sex.”

_ Just sex _ is putting it lightly; Masaki had been passionate about besting that man once, whether it was with fists or with his entire body, but times change and people change, and Kohaku will probably settle down with Tsukumo. They’ll get married. And it’ll be better that it happened for all of them, and Cobra won’t have to worry about his father disappearing in the middle of the night.

Saigo’s expression softens and a hand comes to rest on top of Masaki’s own, half-curled on top of the bar. “You don’t have to explain it if you don’t want to. Feel free to tell me to fuck off.”

Something about hearing Saigo so casually swear makes Masaki snort, shaking his head. “Nah, it’s fine. I don’t mind. Kohaku was an important part of my life for a while, and maybe we’re friends now? Anyway, it was never serious. Not a big deal to either of us.”

“Understandable. People can be important in your life in different ways, good and bad. Sometimes both.” Saigo waves the bartender over and orders a beer, and Masaki pours himself another shot. “I hope you’re not planning to drive while drunk, Amamiya.”

Masaki rolls his eyes. “I’ve had one shot so far. You can visibly see the liquor missing from the bottle. Who gets drunk off of one shot? I mean, Hiroto, once, but not me.”

“I’m teasing you. Lighten up.” Saigo shakes his head but Masaki doesn’t miss the way the corner of his mouth curls, softly thanking the bartender when the beer is brought to him. “It’s good to see you again. I was wondering how you were doing after everything.”

“Me?” Masaki cocks his head. “Why were you thinking about  _ me? _ I’m fine. Hiroto is the one—”

Saiga clicks his tongue. “There it is. I have an older brother, you know. He worries about the rest of us more than he worries about himself. I know Hiroto went through a lot, but you were there beside him the entire time. You went through it, too. So yes, I worried about  _ you _ specifically.”

Masaki hums, then downs his shot, relishing the little burn in the back of his throat and the way it feels warm going all the way down. The thought someone might have worried about him, not about the Amamiya Brothers or about Hiroto, sits oddly with him. He’s never worried about himself, and he doesn’t think Takeru would have worried much about him, either. For the most part, Masaki has his shit together. He might be the louder and more obnoxious brother, but he’s been keeping Hiroto from walking into brawls for months now and he’s been able to keep himself in check as well. It never occurred to him someone else might worry.

“Well, I’m fine. No reason to worry about me other than sometimes I have the occasional nightmare or two, but who doesn’t?” He shrugs, figuring it isn’t that deep of a thing to reveal given everything that has happened. Better than pretending everything is fine, anyway.

Saigo regards him quietly for a moment before taking a sip of his beer. “Nightmares, yeah. I get them from time to time, too. That bullet wound wasn’t fatal, but sometimes I think about what if it was, or what if I’d missed your brother. Doesn’t make for pleasant nights.”

“Solidarity.” Masaki tilts his bottle to clink against Saigo’s. “It’ll be fine, though. We’re fine.”

“That’s true. We are.” Saigo takes another sip, and Masaki pours himself another shot.

Having company for evenings like this one has never struck Masaki as something he actively wants to do, not when having Kohaku here the few times he has made him so distinctly uncomfortable. Maybe their relationship has made it impossible to have those kinds of easy interactions, or maybe Masaki was always keenly aware of how people who know him tend to look at him differently than those who don’t. It’s why he never feels uncomfortable around the rest of Sannoh, who know him as what he represents and not who he is.

Cobra probably wouldn’t want to know, though. He’s had enough sanity-breaking moments without Masaki regaling him with tales of sucking Kohaku in dark alleys.

“Why are you really here on your own?” Saigo finally asks him.

Masaki presses his lips together and debates. “I wanted to drink, that’s all. Why, do you have ulterior motives for coming in to drink tonight?”

“Yes and no. I was going to drink after work regardless.” Saigo is quiet, then, and when he speaks, it sounds like he’s choosing his words with utmost care. Something Masaki has never done in his life. “I recognized your motorcycle outside. I wanted to come in and check on you.”

“Oh. Well. That’s interesting.” Masaki drums his fingers on the side of his bottle of whiskey, debates pouring himself another shot. “Were you really worried about me that much?”

Saigo gives him that enigmatic smile once more. “No. I do worry about you, all the pressure you were under, but I wanted to come in and see you… Just because I wanted to.”

“I do have a nice face.” Masaki resists the urge to roll his eyes at himself.

“You do.” There’s no hesitation in Saigo’s return and Masaki narrows his eyes at him, trying to determine if this is supposed to be a joke, or if he’s serious. “I was surprised to find you sitting at the bar alone. You don’t strike me as someone who doesn’t draw company.”

That has Masaki shaking his head. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he muses, “but most people here stay away from me. Maybe they know I want to be alone when I come here.”

“Oh, you do? Would you like me to give you some space?” Saigo sounds so  _ sincere. _

“No. You can stay. You’re fine.” It comes out before Masaki has a chance to think about it, though he’s not sure he wants to mentally debate it. For some reason, this company isn’t so bad. “I just come here to think. Hiroto’s with Smokey so it seemed like a good night.”

“Not to interrogate you, but the fact you just admitted you came here because Hiroto is busy makes it sound like you don’t want him to know you’re here,” Saigo murmurs.

_ Is it that easy for him to read me? _ Masaki frowns, not liking the implications. “I just… Yeah, fine. I don’t want Hiroto to know because I don’t want him coming to check up on me. Kohaku knows I come here from time to time but he usually doesn’t show up to bother me. He’s just found me here a few times. Bad shit happened. I just need time to process it all.”

“I’m not blaming you for taking that time. You don’t need to be defensive, Amamiya.” Saigo’s hand is on top of his again and Masaki is hyper aware of Saigo’s callused fingers brushing over the cup of his palm carefully. “Like I said, I worry. That’s all. Take as much time as you need, but don’t forget that it’s okay to be vulnerable in front of other people, too.”

“Masaki.” He tries not to squirm, pouring himself another shot. “Just Masaki. It’s fine, I think.”

“Masaki.” Something distinctly warm in Saigo’s voice makes Masaki feel hot all over.

The shot doesn’t taste as good going down. “I know I can be… Vulnerable in front of other people, but I don’t want to be a burden. It’s nice to see Hiroto smile. It’s nice to see him genuinely happy and having a good time with his boyfriend. I want that to keep happening, for him to smile like that. He’s gone through so much. I don’t want to make it worse for him.”

“And what happens if it becomes too much for you to handle on your own?” Saigo asks, and before Masaki can argue with him, he squeezes Masaki’s hand. “It will happen, you know. Pain can fester if you don’t properly let it out, and you’ve just admitted to holding it in.”

Masaki’s lips twist at the words. “I don’t like that you’re right. I don’t know what happens. It’s not ideal, but it’s what I’m doing for his sake. I want to be a good brother for Hiroto. Right now, that means I want him to be happy. To worry just a little less. I don’t know what happens if I can’t handle it on my own. But I’m not going to put it on him. At least, not right now.”

“You’re a good brother.” Saigo squeezes his hand once more before letting it go, and Masaki stupidly misses the contact as soon as it’s gone. “You shouldn’t think otherwise.”

There are arguments Masaki could make— he should have found Takeru faster, should have kept his family together, should have been able to save Takeru, should have been the one who took the bullet for Hiroto— but he doesn’t want to talk about any of that right now. “Okay.”

Saigo sighs softly. “You’ll see, in time. Or you can ask Hiroto and I’m sure he’ll tell you that.”

“Hiroto just says bad things. He’s the worst. He collects too much material.” Masaki debates another shot. “Thank you, again, for saving him. I love him a lot. He’s my little brother, so of course I love him, but… He means a lot to me. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him.”

“You won’t.” Saigo sounds more sure about this than Masaki feels.

He pushes his shot glass away and sighs, sitting up taller on the bar stool. “I should probably just go home. I’m not accomplishing anything here and I’m not in the mood anymore.”

Saigo raises an eyebrow at him. “Did I ruin the evening for you?”

“No. If anything, I’m glad you’re here. I usually show up just to stop thinking so much and that’s not always good for me.” He doesn’t mention the blackouts, few and far between that they are, but they’re still present. “So, thank you for that as well. And for the kind words.”

“Let me walk you out to your bike,” Saigo suggests.

Ordinarily, Masaki would have turned such an offer down, but he feels charitable this time and nods, letting Saigo walk just in front of him as he leaves the bar, slapping down a few bills to pay for the whiskey he didn’t end up drinking. He doesn’t take the bottle; he isn’t in the mood for it and he doesn’t want Hiroto to see it, either. His motorcycle is parked at the edge of the tiny parking lot as far out of the way as possible and he walks toward it, running his hand over the seat. This bike means a lot to him as well; life can keep changing, but he’s got this constant.

“Take care on your way home,” Saigo tells him, and now his voice is stern.

Something about that tone of voice makes Masaki feel a little braver, puffing his chest out in reaction. “You gonna take my keys if I’m not careful, Keiji-san?”

“I just might.” Saigo claps him on the shoulder, the touch lingering long enough that Masaki finds himself swallowing hard. “Take care of yourself. And be kind to yourself. You deserve it.”

Masaki nods once. “Got it. I’ll try to do that. Maybe we can meet up on purpose and drink together some night instead of just  _ coincidentally _ running into each other—”

“I’d rather take you out to dinner than drink in some bar,” Saigo interrupts.

“Well. We can do that, maybe.” Masaki’s never been shy when it comes to women, brash confidence that usually gets him rejected more often than not, but men make him a little more skittish, a little more shy. Like he’s not sure if the same qualities that have women interested in him appeal to men at all. “I don’t exactly have your number—”

The business card is out so fast he barely sees Saigo reach for it. “Now, you do.”

“This is just your office— Did you pre-write your personal number on this before you walked into the bar? You’re the  _ worst. _ ” Masaki squints down at the little rectangle in his hands, shaking his head. Still, he tucks it away into his wallet. “You really walked in there thinking you were going to get me to ask you for your phone number. I can’t believe this.”

“You did, didn’t you?” Saigo asks.

“Don’t get cocky now.” Masaki picks up his helmet, swinging a leg over the seat of his bike, straddling her carefully. “It’s more romantic if you send me off with a kiss.”

Saigo snorts at him. “Don’t get cocky, but kiss me goodbye. That’s you right now.”

“And did I stutter?” Masaki shakes his head. “It was a joke, you don’t—”

Fingers grip his chin, tilting his head carefully. “Joke or not, I will gladly kiss you.”

The thing is, Masaki has no set type when it comes to men, not like he does with women. It might be his lack of experience with men in general, and he imagines plenty of people would joke about how many older men he just so happens to end up in bed with. Saigo is an older man, lines around his eyes and mouth, wearing his age and experience so visibly, but there’s a kindness to his face that makes Masaki’s heart climb up into his throat and his tongue slip out, dragging over his lips, wetting them thoughtfully.

Saigo kisses with the experience Masaki expects, holding Masaki’s chin so carefully, dictating a slow and relaxed pace that makes Masaki’s eyelids flutter shut. This kiss is all kinds of amazing and his mouth is tingling when he leans away, but only in the best way.

“Have a good night, Masaki,” Saigo tells him.

Hiroto will probably be able to read it all over his face in the morning, but as Masaki slips on his helmet and starts up the engine of his bike, he feels… Better. Not  _ better _ better, but not like he wants to slip into a bottle to forget.

And he’s got dinner to look forward to, too.


End file.
